Moving Targets and Other Tales of Valdemar

“Peachwing’s ailin’,” she said in answer to his questioning expression. “The herbalist is makin’ up a packet of medicines for her and one for Granther. Can you pick ’em up after your shift? We’d have asked Jakon and Raik, but they’re guardin’ the iron market rebuild first thing this mornin’,” she added quietly.

He nodded. “What’s wrong with her?” he asked, peering down at the bird.

“She misses her clutch. We moved ’em to the trainin’ coop yesterday.”

Beside her, their grandfather snorted. “I’ve told ye a thousan’ times, girl, birds don’t miss their littles when they leave. It’s mites.”

Kasiath just patted him on the arm. “Course they miss ’em, Granther,” she said. “They just don’t show it the same way people do. But she’s also got mites,” she agreed. “She’s s’posed to be lead messenger bird for the watchhouse next week,” she added, returning her attention to Hektor. “But she can’t ’less we get the mites cleared up.”

Hektor jiggled the money in his hand. “Can’t you pay the herbalist in eggs?” he asked. “Not from your messenger birds,” he added swiftly when both sister and grandfather gave him a dark look. “But your pigeons’ve gotta have few to spare?”

“Oh, aye, if you wants to go without your breakfast tomorrow,” his grandfather snapped.

“There are a few extra,” Kasiath allowed in a mollifying tone, “but we didn’t think you wanted to keep ’em at the watchhouse over your shift.”

“We didn’t think they’d still be there, is what she meant,” their grandfather snorted. “T’was different in my day. You could leave a fortune on the front step, and no one’d look twice at it. Nowadays, with your Da gone, there’s no order up there. Them greedy ba ...” He broke off at Kasiath’s reproachful look, hunkering down in his shawl with a barely audible mutter.

“I’ll get ’em,” Hektor promised, then turned with an attempt at a stern expression to his youngest brother, eleven-year-old Padreic.

The boy studiously kept his eyes on the pig’s bladder ball he was mending until Hektor coughed pointedly. “That’s all right, Hek,” he said without looking up. “I don’t need any sweets this month.”

“Don’t need?”

Padreic shrugged, then glanced up with a rueful expression. “I don’t have a pennybit,” he admitted.

“You got paid last week,” Hektor reminded him. “And I saw you put money on the mantle.”

The boy just shrugged again, and Hektor sighed. “You gave it away, didn’t you?” he asked.

“To Rosie.”

With a shake of his head, Hektor reached into his pouch for another pennybit, then stopped as Aiden’s hand came down heavily on his arm.

“Rosie earns her own money,” he said shortly.

Both younger brothers nodded in resentful obedience, but when Aiden turned his back, Hektor quietly added a pennybit anyway.

“Who’re we to stand in the way of true love,” he whispered, smiling as the comment caused Padreic to redden. “Are you sweepin’ up at the watchhouse today, Paddy?” he asked loudly to cover up the movement.

“ ’Course I am,” the boy declared at once. “Today’s postin’ day.”

“I thought you were doin’ deliveries for the bakery this mornin’,” their mother said with a frown.

“Traded with Ollie so as I could be at the watchhouse.”

“The captain may not post today,” Hektor warned him, casting a quick look for Aiden, but their elder brother was now deep in conversation with their grandfather and was at least pretending not to hear them.

“He’ll post,” Padreic insisted. “Aiden’ll make sergeant an’ I’ll come on as watchhouse runner, you’ll see.”

Hektor frowned down at him. “Maybe. But all the same, keep quiet about it till then, all right?”

“But Hek ...”

“No buts. Now hurry up or we’ll be late.”

Padreic obediently set the ball to one side and stood.

“Tell your brothers to be careful today,” their mother called after them as Aiden joined them at the door. “I don’t hold with double shifts, whatever the pay might be, and I don’t want ’em so tired that they slip up.”

“We’ll tell ’em.”

“And you be careful, too. Things might get out of hand out there.”

“We know.”

“Then know safer.”

The three Dann boys took the tenement stairs two at a time, emerging into the bright sunlight a moment later. The Iron Street watchhouse was ten long blocks away, and they walked quickly, nodding to their neighbors as they went. The Danns had lived on Iron Street for as long as there’d been a street and had served at the Iron Street watchhouse for as long as there’d been a watchhouse. Ordinarily the street would be bustling with people at this time of the morning, all talking and trading, arguing and calling out their own greetings, but the fire had cast a pall of nervous suspicion over the entire neighborhood. All eyes tracked their progress and Hektor did his best to ignore the growing sense of unrest until a burly figure stepped in front of them. Beside him, he felt his older brother stiffen.

“Mornin’, Linton,” Hektor said casually.

“Mornin’, Watchmen.” The large, beefy mastersmith cocked his head to one side.

“You an’ your brother gonna be guardin’ the iron market rebuild today, Corporal?” he asked Aiden pointedly.